


if love is the answer, you're home (hold on)

by literaryFRIVOLOUSneophyte



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Buddhism, Budding Love, Intimacy, Introspection, Literary References & Allusions, M/M, Multi, Spiritual, Trans Genji Shimada, Trans Male Character, Trans Reaper | Gabriel Reyes, Trans Zenyatta
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-09
Updated: 2017-05-09
Packaged: 2018-10-29 20:19:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,287
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10861350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/literaryFRIVOLOUSneophyte/pseuds/literaryFRIVOLOUSneophyte
Summary: “Look at us,” Zenyatta says blissfully. “Three men who are nothing like each other yet share everything at the same time. Being transgender is transcendence.”





	if love is the answer, you're home (hold on)

When the sun is low in the sky they reach a village where children are playing in the street. It smells of wet cow and wildflowers. The soles of Gabe’s feet are covered in blisters, and Genji and Zenyatta are caked in dust.

They find their way towards the nearby river, where a woman is kneeling on the bank to wash her clothes. She looks up at them and they nod at her in greeting. Gabe cups water in his hands and brings it to his face to drink, letting it run down his chin. He does the same for Genji. The woman watches him lower his faceplate curiously, but not with fear. The water and Gabe’s fingers are cool against his chapped lips and his parched throat is grateful for it.

In the half-light of dusk they help the woman carry her baskets of laundry back to the village. Zenyatta lets the children play with his orbs of harmony and they delight in rolling them through the sand like marbles, too heavy for them to kick or throw. They return to the river to find bowls of rice and milk set out for them.

“What’s this for?” Gabe says. His voice comes out as a croak; he has not spoken in a while.

“They think we are spirits,” says Zenyatta.

“In my case, they would not be wrong.”

They sit cross-legged in the dirt and eat with their bare hands, while Zenyatta bows his head to think. A dragonfly briefly lands on his hand and its body is a spectrum of green marble and turquoise. He tells Gabe and Genji about the time he meditated by a lily pond and a cluster of dragonflies came to rest on him, but somehow he does not have the words to tell them how enthralled he is by the way they push grains of rice past their lips. Their throats bob as they swallow and the shade softens the angles of their face.

That night they sleep under a fig tree. The heat makes Gabe’s skin itch, and he scratches for hours until Genji turns to him and asks him if he’s okay. His eyes glimmer like golden beetles in the moonlight.

“The process is always painful,” Gabe says through gritted teeth. Tendrils of smoke curl out from the corners of his mouth. Pieces of grey skin like chitin peel off as new skin grows in. “I’ll be fine. Go back to sleep.”

Genji presses, “Would water help?”

“Nothing will help. Leave me be.”

“Do you think Widowmaker is hunting you?”

The question catches him off guard. He grunts, “Who cares? I said, leave me be.”

Genji is quiet. Gabe wonders if Talon would really send her after him, out here, but more likely they assumed Genji killed him when he found him. He wonders who will light her cigarillos now and hold her glass when the wine makes her head spin, even when she claims she feels nothing. He cannot imagine Sombra doing that for her. He does not know how that makes him feel except more tired.

Gabe nudges Genji. "I didn't mean to snap at you. I'm sorry."

"It's alright. You were in pain and I bothered you."

"You only wanted to help. There's -" Gabe coughs up a black glob into his fist and he shudders. "If you - could you - rub my back?"

Genji nods and Gabe turns over on his stomach. He touches the metal plates holding up his spine, not so different from his own, and Gabe shivers. Genji's fingers are soft but firm, deftly working the knots of muscle until Gabe relaxes under his touch.

He thinks of his mother. The nut-brown warmth of her face. The hyacinths she kept in the kitchen. The hot horchata she made for him when he was scared. Eventually he closes his eyes and dreams of papayas. His mouth waters around them and their juices make his fingers sticky. He kneads between his legs, feeling it running down his chin, down his thighs. His mother tells him, _niña, you’re a woman now._

Morning comes streaming through the branches of the trees. They get up and keep walking, past the village, past the river. Wide-eyed children watch them go. They do not stop to eat. Past mango groves. Past men carrying wicker baskets full of fish and peppers and beans. Past a thicket of bamboo where young women with long skirts are dancing. The sun is high and hot above them and there is no wind. Zenyatta tells them the story of Siddhartha as they trudge on.

 _“He killed his senses, he killed his memory, he slipped out of his self into thousands of other forms, was an animal, was carrion, was stone, was wood, was water, and awoke every time to find his old self again, sun shone or moon, was his self again, turned round in the cycle, felt thirst, overcame the thirst, felt new thirst,”_ Zenyatta narrates. _“He went the way of self-denial by means of pain, through voluntarily suffering and overcoming pain, hunger, thirst, tiredness. He went the way of self-denial by means of meditation, through imagining the mind to be void of all conceptions.”_

“I could be a Samana,” Gabe says. “I could go out alone into the mountains and never come back, but the world would be better for my absence. I could survive off the bark of trees and run naked with the animals. Maybe I would be better off, too.”

Zenyatta says to him, “Do you remember the ending of _Crime and Punishment?_ There is one line I believe applies to you. _They did not know that a new life is not given for nothing; that it has to be paid clearly for, and only acquired by much patience and suffering, and great future efforts._ Consider that, my friend.”

“Suffering, yes. I know suffering. I know pain. Is that not what being a Samana is about?”

“Remember Buddha,” says Genji. _“It is neither by indulging in sensuous cravings and pleasure, nor by subjecting oneself to painful, unholy and unprofitable self-torture, one can achieve freedom from suffering and rebirth.”_

Zenyatta laughs but it is not a cruel laugh. It is the laugh he cannot hold back when he is so pleased to be challenged by his students. _“Might we get closer to enlightenment? Might we get closer to salvation? Or do we perhaps live in a circle— we, who have thought we were escaping the cycle?"_

He remembers every line of every book he has ever read, and Gabe and Genji hang on his every word. His voice is like listening to water, like being alone with the river under the stars. Twenty years ago he was constructed to be a waitress, with a high-pitched female voicebox that he replaced by himself. The Shambali still treated him like a sister, so he had to follow his own path again. 

Past rice-fields. Past a shepherd asleep in a meadow with his goats licking his face. Past a stream where old women with long braids are bathing. When Genji found the Reaper and brought him to his master, he surrendered his mask. Now he travels with them, learning to live on food again and then to fast, to feel the sun on his face again and then feel nothing when it burns him. To empty himself of pain when his skin sheds like a snake to survive.

His body balances in that dark place between decay and death. The moon resents that she cannot make him bleed, so when she is full she wells up inside him. If he will not bleed for her, if he will not die, then she will feverishly, possessively pull on the tender frenulum connecting him to this world.

They rest that night in a small cave in the hills. Gabe dreams of the Samana, their sunburned shoulders and their calloused feet; Genji does not dream anymore. For hours Zenyatta stares at the lichen like tonsil stones in the mouth of the cave. He listens to the owls preening their feathers and the beat of the heron’s wings and the soft patter of cashews falling to the ground. A field mouse wanders up to him and lets him stroke its tiny head.

He watches the muscles in Gabe’s face twitch in his sleep and the moths flutter around the lights on Genji’s back. He used to dream of what it would be like to be human, to have hair and hormones and that center of gravity between his legs, but then he saw what humans did to each other. He does not know if he is strong enough for that.

They are awake before the sun rises so they can train in the shroud of fog. Genji moves easily as a sparrow through the dew-swathed trees to catch the orbs Zenyatta throws to him while Gabe dissipates into the shadows to avoid them. Afterwards, when he is satisfied by their work, Zenyatta reads to them from the Upanishads.

 _“The self is never born nor does it die. It did not spring from anything, nor did anything spring from it. It is not slain even though the body is slain,”_ Zenyatta says. “What do you make of that?”

“It means true self is without form,” says Genji. “All bodies are illusions we use to perceive each other. We cannot choose which body we have, which machine we inhabit. _For death is nothing more than the casting-off of a worn-out garment._ Just as transitioning is like changing clothes. We are not our bodies. We are more. The self is the soul.”

“It is interesting,” Gabe says, “that you can take a line about death and make it about life.”

“It speaks volumes about you and your soul. You've come so far from when we first met. I am proud of what you've become,” says Zenyatta.

Genji beams at the praise. "Thank you, master."

"You don't have to call me that, my friend. We are equal here."

"It's not like that. It's about respect."

"If it brings you peace, then I won't stop you."

"Oh, you couldn't stop me if you wanted to."

"What does that mean?"

When he looks at Zenyatta, the colors of his eyes are like the rings of Saturn. "It means you spoil me."

Gabe muffles a laugh. "Thought you said you respected him."

"I respected you as a commander and I respect Zenyatta as a master. That doesn't mean I can't tease either of you."

For another hour they practice dodging shurikens and outrunning each other on the slope of the hills. The bandage of clouds peels away from the sun and the sky is powder blue underneath.

They lay together in the grass, flushed and sore. A cool wind blows through the trees with a sound like song, carrying with it the distant bleating and smell of sheep.

“Look at us,” Zenyatta says blissfully. “Three men who are nothing like each other yet share everything at the same time. Being transgender is transcendence.”

 _"Your soul is the whole world,"_ quotes Genji.

Gabe says, “I know a poem that goes something like that. _Under bluest sky, three men drive toward a blue sky, sky all around. You can't run, you know, not from God. This must be what that means, this deep blue dome. Though clouds gather now. And now it rains. Heaven cools its flame-blue burn.”_

They continue on. Around noon they stop to drink from a creak. Genji goes back into the hills to forage for food while Gabe bathes away the ripe smell of sweat. His hair falls out in black clumps into the white foam of the water. It reminds him of the first time he shaved, watching all those whiskers wash down the drain. He was going to see his mother that day. His voice was almost as deep as his father's but the beard might have been too much of a shock for her.

“Do you miss your home?” Zenyatta asks him when Genji is gone, with the creek susurrating between them.

“Home? Do you mean Talon?” He thinks of Widowmaker and her dead eyes, turning his claws over in her little hand, half-drunk and mumbling about France in the summer and “two weeks, just two weeks.” That is not home. That is a graveyard.

“California,” Zenyatta clarifies. “I have been to Yosemite and to Zion but never to Los Angeles. Did you like it there? Do you miss it?”

He remembers his mother and the cinnamon smell of her hair when she held him in her arms, but he doesn’t want to talk about her. He says, “L.A. was fast. The world comes to a crawl here, but somehow I am still a part of it.”

“Has the world changed, or have you?”

Gabe is quiet. The water gurgles over the rocks. Zenyatta waits patiently for him to respond. When he does, he says, _”I love mankind, but I find to my amazement that the more I love mankind as a whole, the less I love man in particular._ That's how I used to feel."

“Love,” repeats Zenyatta. That single word slips out with all the respect and awe of a prayer. “Have you ever been in love?”

“Many times, to many different men. But I feel the purest romance has been between men like me. There is an unparalleled intimacy when your partner understands you in that way.” He licks his lips. “What about you? Do you love anyone?”

Gabe goes deeper into the water, up to his waist. He wants to lay on his back like he did when he was a kid, when he would sneak into the public swimming pool at night to smoke or chew tobacco or cry. His chest is carved with muscle and ribbons of scars. Zenyatta aches to touch him.

“I must admit,” says Zenyatta, “I am envious of the history you and Genji have. I have not known him as long as you two have known each other.”

“Jealous of me or of Genji? It doesn't matter. You shouldn't be envious of soldiers.”

Gabe pulls himself out of the creek and lays down besides Zenyatta, glistening wet but warm. He glances at Zenyatta who nervously looks away.

“Yosemite must be beautiful this time of year,” Zenyatta says. “I - I think I would like to visit it again someday. We could all go, the three of us. It would be nice.”

Gabe hums in agreement. He reaches slowly for Zenyatta’s hand and stops when their fingers are brushing. The light reflects on Zenyatta’s faceplate like fish scales. A chameleon, mouth agape, slinks over the banana leaves above them, hunting a spider.

“I am... happy.” He pauses, then says, “That you - that is, I'm glad you enjoyed _The Brothers Karamazov._ I knew you would relate to Ivan the most out of the three brothers.”

“I am Ivan. You are Alyosha,” says Gabe. “And Genji is Dmitri.”

“Dmitri? I hope that doesn’t mean I’m going to get arrested,” Genji says, appearing out of the bushes. He sees Zenyatta quickly place his hands in his lap but does not notice Gabe laughing under his breath.

He brings a handful of roots and nuts for them to share. There are times when he misses wagashi, steamed cakes and sweet dumplings. He used to snort lines of cocaine and stuff himself on slices of black watermelon and carefully prepared fugu. Then his brother found out he liked to wear men’s clothing. Was it the cocaine or the cross-dressing? Either way, Genji doesn't eat fugu anymore. Now he eats mushrooms and lets hunger gnaw inside his chassis.

The sun sinks to its knees. They cross the hills and find themselves in another more populated village. Chickens and pigs roam freely between the legs of vendors selling blankets and candles and cheap jewelry. A man throws a tomato at Zenyatta and laughs. People watch them from their porches and through the windows of their terracotta tiled houses, and every so often they see an omnic face in the crowd. They stare the longest but with different meaning.

They take shelter under a bridge with two other men and their dog huddled around a small fire. They refuse to look at Zenyatta but offer to play cards with them nonetheless. It makes Gabe think of Ana and Jack, all those half-buried memories of Overwatch. For Genji, it reminds him of his father in a smoky room with weathered hands offering him dice to play with. They sleep very little and are gone by morning.

As they are leaving the village a woman coming out of a temple offers them bread. In return they walk her home and help her make dinner for her children, coconut-milk and curry. Her children have never talked to an omnic before and they are fascinated by Zenyatta. They giggle and take turns tossing his orbs down the well so he can make them fly out and over their heads and back into their small hands. A reverse game of skipping stones.

The mother offers them sandals for the walk and money for the bus but they tell her they are happy to be barefoot and take the road that leads into the rainforest. Her children wave goodbye and promise to name their next calf after Zenyatta. When they are back under the trees, Genji lowers his faceplate to let the sun on his face. He smiles and something tightens like a loose bolt inside Zenyatta. He lets his orbs float around them like fireflies, like lanterns in the shrine where Hanzo honors his memory of Genji.

“There’s a quote I’ve been thinking about,” Gabe starts. He went a month without talking to them once, but this week he can’t seem to stop himself. “It’s from the first chapter of Dostoevsky's diary. Most of it went over my head but I remember something he says about Protestantism. _It therefore lives by protesting against its enemy._ ”

Zenyatta says, “What is it about it that speaks to you, my friend?”

“Is that not the definition of transgender? In the literal sense, I mean. Is our identity not based in opposition, founded by it? What would we be without that defining moment of our birth?”

“Happier,” says Genji.

Zenyatta shakes his head. “I reject that. Being transgender and being happy are not mutually exclusive. In that same paragraph he says _it is the embodiment of pure emptiness._ I would not look to Dostoevsky for wisdom about gender in that passage.”

“I can't help it. Everything makes me think about gender.”

That afternoon they wrestle in the heat until their limbs are fatigued and sweaty. They sprawl together, elbows touching shoulders and faces against heaving chests. They watch the shadows of birds swooping above them and the bees rubbing themselves in the sweet folds of flowers.

“I wish it could be like this forever,” Genji sighs. He smells of sandalwood and faintly of coconut.

“Nothing lasts forever,” Gabe says.

 _“They who live in the realm of heaven enjoy freedom from death,”_ Zenyatta recites.

Gabe asks, “Where will we go next? North or South?”

“We will show the light of the iris to the whole world,” Zenyatta says. “We will go to Yosemite. We will go to L.A. and Hanamura. We'll go marching in London for Mondatta. We’ll stay together.”

“What if Hanzo finds me?”

"What if Widowmaker does?"

“Then we help them.”

“What if Talon hunts us?” 

Zenyatta’s voice is firm. “Then we fight them.”

Genji settles into the crook of Gabe’s neck, who threads his fingers through Genji’s hair and with his other hand, holds Zenyatta’s.

**Author's Note:**

> title from the daft punk song "touch." poem is "driving towards lake superior" by steve cordova. that buddha quote is from the four noble truths. siddhartha belongs to hermane hesse. crime and punishment, the brothers karamazov, and a writer's diary are all dostoevsky's works. the translation of the upanishads I use is by swami paramananda.


End file.
